_Gom._ Do not I know With thousand gifts, and importunacies, Thou often hast sollicited this Lady (Contrary to thy oath of chastity) Who ne'r disclosing this thy hot reign'd lust, Yet tender to prevent a publique scandal, That _Christendom_ might justly have impos'd, Upon this holy institution, Thou now hast drawn this practise 'gainst her life To quit her charity. _Mount. Spaniard_, thou liest. _Ast._ No more _Gomera,_ thou art granted combat, And you _Mountferrat_ must prepare against To morrow morning in the valley here Adjoyning to _St. Georg[e]s_ Port: a Lady In case of life 'gainst whom one witness comes May have her champion. _Val._ And who hath most right [_Florish_ With, or against our Sister, speed in fight. [_Exit._ _Enter_ Rocca. _Mount. Rocca_, the first news of _Mirandas_ service Let me have notice of. _Roc._ You shall: The _Moore_ Waites you without. _Mount._ Admit her, ha, ha, ha. Oh, how my fancies run at tilt! _Gomera_ Loves _Oriana_; she as I should ghess, Affects _Miranda_; these are two dear friends, As firm, and full of fire, as steel and flint. To make 'em so now, one against the other: [_Enter_ Zanthia. Stay let me like it better, _Zanthia_; First tell me this, did _Don Gomera_ use To give his visits to your Mistriss? _Zan._ Yes, and _Miranda_ too: but severally. _Mount._ Which did she most apply to? _Zan._ Faith to neither: Yet infinitely I have heard her praise 'em both, And in that manner, that were both one man I think she was in love with't. _Mount. Zanthia_, Another Letter you must frame for me Instantly, in your Ladies Character, To such a purpose as I'll tell thee strait, Go in, and stay me: Go my Tinder-box, Cross lines I'll cross; so, so: my after-game I must play better: woman, I will spread My vengeance over _Malta_, for thy sake: _Spaniard, Italian_, like my steel and stone, I'll knock you thus together, wear ye out To light my dark deeds, whilst I seem precise, And wink to save the sparkles from mine eyes. [_Exeunt._ _Actus Secundus. Scæna Prima._ [_A Sea-fight within, alarm._ _Enter_ Norandine, Miranda, _and Soldiers, and Gentlemen_. _Mir._ How is it Sir? _Nor._ Pray set me down; I cool, And my wounds smart. _Mir._ I hope yet Though there be many, there's none dangerous. _Nor._ I know not, nor I care not much, I got 'em Like a too forward fool, but I hope the Surgeons Will take an order I shall not leave 'em so, I make the rogues more work than all the Island, And yet they give me the hardest words for my money.